The Messenger
by Solanio
Summary: Winston learns that honesty is rewarding, in rather unexpected ways.
1. Prelude

_The theme is angels in the World of Darkness as a variant. This and similar angel stories of mine present angels and their relationship to Man, God, demons, and each other in a much more dark and cynical perspective than is typical for the subject. Thus it is influenced by the themes found in books like Good Omens, films like the Prophecy, and games like In Nomine. Therefore it might not be suitable or enjoyable for those with strong convictions and beliefs about angels. - This story is part of an ongoing chronicle at my web site (see profile) using a shared character. If you would like to contribute to this particular character's chronicle, please stop by. And of course, any helpful hints and critques are most appreciated. - Cheers, Sol._

**Prelude**

Winston poked his finger at the hard waxy red skin, his nail leaving an indentation. With all the varieties of cheese and he had to choose from, Winston could afford none of them. He poked more packages, imagining what they would taste like. Feeding his vessel had always seemed strange to him. Of late, it had become a chore since he could never seem to acquire enough currency to manage both rent and food. He could of course go days, weeks, years without eating if he chose, using his essence to fuel his material vessel. But it was good to eat. Otherwise, the emptiness gnawed at his insides. Food was what his vessel demanded. Eating, defecating, breathing, all these things came naturally to his skinsuit while being so alien to what was inside of it. Winston was a being of energy and fire, radiance and power. He felt trapped in existence, impatient, wanting it all to come to some end. What was the point?

Winston watched a woman who had helped herself to an expensive French triple cream brillat savarin. Her skin smelled rich and pampered with exotic creams, dried bath salts, shampoo, and an expensive perfume, all competing to define her scent. A reserve bottle of ZD chardonnay, fat green ranch olives, sundried tomatoes, fresh french bread, dolmas and baklava filled her basket. She glanced at Winston, and gave a somewhat suspicious perusal of the cheese he had marked.

"Excuse me," she said to Winston. He stepped aside and she grabbed a goat cheese and some imported Italian buffalo mozzarella. Winston watched the floating white balls dance in their package as she added them to her hoard.

Since he could not have food just then, Winston had hoped that the mere presence of it, the odors of it so rich in his elohite heightened sense of smell, would be enough. But haunting the market seemed to add to his hunger, robbing him of any satisfaction. He thought about visiting Benefice. There was food there; but any bite he took was one that some poor monkey would not have. Families, children, were going hungry and did not have the option of living off essence. Winston would not prevail upon his angelic kindred for charity while times were lean. Like many of his trade, he would have to eat air. Since the woman, presenting as she did, a cloud of overpowering fragrance that if nothing else, served to quash the smell of food, Winston decided to follow her out. Perhaps she could divorce the hunger he felt. She seemed like the type who could kill hunger.

He found her outside the store. Her bag was torn. Fruit, olive oil and packets of lox scattered in the parking lot, colourful islands of taste in a sea of black asphalt. Winston sailed over and knelt down. Without being asked, he helped her gather her plenty and put it into her other bags. She looked uncomfortable but could not think of an excuse to deny Winston's help. He carried her food with a smile that she could not say no to, and put the bags down next to the trunk of her BMW.

"Thank you." Her hand held five dollars.

Winston smiled and took the money, hoping to ease both her conscience and his rumbling intestines. Five dollars. He earned that much for an hour of hard work when once it had taken him a week to earn so much. It seemed like a lot but it never was enough. Five dollars did not buy him what it once did. And Winston could never keep up with the value of increments. Shekels, dinars, yuan, and now dollars. Though he had trouble with finite numbers, he guessed that five dollars would buy potatoes at the farmers market; maybe even enough to keep him from hunger until the next payday.

The woman stood uncomfortably. She was a prisoner of what she supposed to be good manners. Her mental clock ticked away the minute moments where she could again brush Winston off and leave. Listening to humans as they moved through the Symphony was always fascinating for Winston. Listening to Charisse, Winston felt in her mind the unsympathetic harmonic of future disappointment. It was not certain; nothing ever was with monkeys. But it was likely. If she continued in her path, in a few months, some strings of her life would unravel, playing no more. Her song would be smaller, meeker, from this clash and others before it. Subtle changes now would dampen these new vibrations, though Winston did not think they would end. Perhaps intervention would delay the inevitable, but in time the harmonic would grow and the end would be the same. Still, it was all he could do. Winston understood that humans had to find their own way in the end.

"I wouldn't use this," Winston said, removing a package of meat. Charisse's mouth opened and her eyes flared in anger. She had watery green eyes with hazel flecks. "Chad is a bit of a snob about his food. In public, he only eats grass-fed beef. In private, he eats frozen meat he buys at Costco, but he will look poorly on a meal with domestic beef. Organic Yellow Finn potatoes, imported asparagus, this meal demands you use grass-fed. Even Chad would notice."

The woman blinked and swalled her invectives. She was worried that Winston was a friend of Chad. But she was not sure. "You know Chad?"

Winston pursed his lips, reflecting for a moment. He had never met Chad, but he knew him nonetheless. Chad's was one of an infinite number of vibrations that left cluttered harmonics wherever he went. His was a disruptive force that interfered with the rythems of others, crushing their songs to make way for his own noise. That was his purpose in life, sad, but necessary in the ultimate scheme of things. He was a tester, a tempest of disguised cacophany in which only stronger melodies could emerge once more. Winston felt a small voice, a human vestige of his vessel perhaps, telling him he was about to go too far.

"Yes, I know him. Chad thinks he has better taste than he really does. And he likes to find fault with people. It makes him feel superior. If you really want to impress him, you need to show enough sophistication to intrigue him, but not so much that he will find it threatening. His last girlfriend outgrew him and he still has a soft spot for her. He was attracted to you because you look like her. But in time, that similarity will confuse him and bring up some of the bad feelings he had about his last relationship. He does not want to be hurt again. If you come across as someone too smart, or too classy, he will purposely put you down before he thinks you will do it to him. If you come across as too simple, he will make fun of you to his friends, stay with you for the sex, but will dump you as soon as his ego feels it can handle the challenge of someone he feels is more worthy. In fact, dumping you he instinctively thinks will help him regain some of his lost ego. Depending on which extreme you gravitate towards during this relationship, Chad will either worry about you cheating on him and will therefore cheat on you as a way of distancing himself; or he will be very faithful, treat you sweetly when it is just the two of you together, and yet make fun of you when you go out with friends. Yet those strategic acts of sweetness will make him seem like he is a kinder man than he really is. Chad likes working with his hands, and he is very good at fixing things. He enjoys building and regrets that he cannot maintain a lifestyle to the level he does by working as a carpenter or handyman. Yet, he secretly dreams of leading a simpler life. Chad acts like a liberal but votes conservatively. He likes action movies, yet pretends to like only art house and foreign films. Chad donates both time and money every Christmas to a homeless shelter, as a way to pay back when he was himself homeless. He never admits why he does this and is secretly embarrassed when people complement him on selflessness, fearing what they would think if they knew this aspect of his past. Chad never forgets people who help him and never forgives people who he perceives to have harmed him. Chad lacks a sense of self and he seems more defined by the car he drives than he does by any life choices. Chad is shallow, generous, petty, intelligent, athletic, energetic about his passions, lazy about most everything else, and yet dedicated to ideals that he does not understand."

Winston started to tell Charisse a little bit about herself. That proved to be too much. With a gasp, she clamped her jaw shut, which had flapped down when Winston first began to unravel Chad and then herself. Charisse grabbed her car keys from her purse and was tearing out of the parking lot before Winston could finish. Her scent lingered in the air until scoured away by a warm sea breeze. Winston picked up her groceries. He sniffed the rich bouqet of food and told his stomach that this time, it was not an empty promise. He walked back to his bike, which he never bothered to lock. Sliced tomatoes with basil, mozzarella, and balsamic vinegar sounded good. Even Chad would have approved.

**story by Solanio**


	2. A dark offer made

"Freak!"

Paulo grabbed Winston's hair, aiming for the mass of bright red curls that were impossible to miss. The shiny hair slipped through Paulo's fingers like wind. Surprised to be holding nothing, once again Paulo came away as he usually did in his incidents with Winston, without satisfaction. Paulo turned to see if Winston had had any reaction. He never did. Winston had not even bothered to look up. He was still focused on fixing the tire for the stranded motorist.

"Are you all right?" An older man with a balding head stuck his head out of the car, watching the other cyclist disappear. The offender was a young man, like his benefactor, thin and wiry, but with lanky black hair and a sour pimply expression. The young man who had stopped to help him did not look up, focused on the flat. "Did you see that punk? Are you O.K?"

Carrot-top continued to work on the flat tire as if nothing had happened. Paulo hated Winston. He had no reason of course, except that Winston rubbed him the wrong way just by breathing. Even now, with a package to deliver, Winston had stopped to help some grey-haired geezer. And this altruistic bullshit wouldn't even slow Winston down. He was fast; he was the favored one; he was the one that everyone asked for; no one asked for Paulo anymore.

Paulo's anger rippled through the Symphony, subtle and bitter. Haverstance relished its discordant flavor, noting the scent of Paulo's soul as he passed. He made a mental note to look Paulo up. He had use for such sweet rage. Haverstance and Paulo shared something in common; neither cared much for Winston. Haverstance had never met the ofanim with bright red hair. Being part of the fabric of creation, it was easy for those like Haverstance and Winston to know almost everything about the other without ever having met. Looking at Winston was like looking at a mirror. Winston was a reflection, not of what Haverstance was now, but what he had once been. Paulo looked at Winston and saw his own envy. Haverstance looked at Winston and saw his own regret.

Regret...

Winston was an outcast. But his spirit was pristine, unsullied by discord and dissonance. He had simply walked away from the War. Winston could go back to Heaven if he chose. Haverstance, well, that would be a long story.

"Fuckin fr..." Paulo started to mutter. A reddish-blond blur, a feathery brush of wind, and Winston's smile was all there was. The freak was gone again, even though Paulo had left him two miles behind. There was something very unnatural about Winston. No one, no one could cycle that fast. Paulo just could not put his finger on what it was.

"How does he do it?"

Winston danced in the traffic, a flowing river of steel and glass all around him. Drivers, if they even saw him at all, saw only a passing bit of colour, or thought they did. Who would believe a bicycle speeding on Highway 1? The distance from Santa Cruz to Watsonville, half the length of the county, would only take him a couple of minutes. Winston was taking it slow, enjoying the day.

Like a sound plucked from a rusted wire, barbed wire at that, Winston sensed the polluted emanations poisoning the moment. A large jet-black humvee cruised up alongside Winston, its inefficient engine belching unseen poison into the air. A blacker window eased down, the scent of dead jasmine and burnt hair strong despite the wind of speed whooshing past Winston's face.

"We need to talk." The voice was deep and melodic, beautiful and vile.

Haverstance Ember. Valnum was gone. Winston was not surprised that the Enemy had come to pick at the bones of tranquility. And with Ember would come war.

Winston slashed downward with his arm, a fiery chain edged like a knife sliced through the Hummer, taking off a wheel. The huge monstrosity careened toward Winston, who easily dodged it. Winston pulled back to watch the Hummer crash into a ditch. Crows, but then they were not crows, erupted from the smokey ruin. Winston backpedaled and cut through traffic, going the wrong way, the crows in pursuit. They pecked at his hair, and Winston could feel their searing breath. Drivers swerved out of the way of something they thought they saw. But when they glanced in their rear view mirrors, their hearts pounding wildly, there was nothing. A few saw a flock of birds, black birds with bright red eyes and gaping red raw mouths.

Winston unfurled his wings to give himself a boost. He jumped the median and a fence, onto a frontage road. Then he reversed himself again, heading into the hills between the freeway and the coast. Winston looked at the ground. The sun was high overhead, strong and bright. Shadows dogged him. Shadows of crows grew arms and barbed wings, heads of horns and razor whips. Three demons lashed out at him with their whips. Winston's bike crashed into the bracken, while the whips tangled his body, sinking into his flesh and tasting his vessel's blood.

"Enough," said a voice of ash. Ember was there, his vessel beautiful, his shadow a ruin and a monstrosity. As the whips of Ember's minions slithered off of Winston, he could see his own shadow, great wings unfurling while blood dripped from them. The Sun always revealed the truth in shadows. Winston longed to take to the sky, but the demons hovered above, ready to lash out at him again. The pain subsiding, his vessel's wounds healing, Winston turned to the Enemy.

"You make this difficult," Ember said. Ember was a cabalite. Back in the day, he had been a throne, like Winston. Now fallen, cabalites embodied uncontrolled force and rage. They were the heavy muscle of Hell. Where they went, ruin walked alongside. Ember's reputation was that of a puppetmaster. He liked to set things in motion and sit back to watch, like a child playing with toy cars smashing them into one another. But his toys were real people, real lives - smash - kaboom - enjoy the show.

The demon whose lash had bit deepest, he who had drawn the most blood, was another cabalite, named Ripper. He had shown up around town not that long ago, trying to put the force of order into the renegade demons hiding out, much as Daria was trying to rein in the herd of outcast elohim. He was a bully, and worse, a bureaucrat. If these were not enough reasons to despise the demon, word was that Ripper and Daria had come to some sort of understanding about not getting in each other's way for a while until things were back in order, from a Heavenly-Hellish point of view. Ripper looked to be putting on a good show for Ember, trying to ingratiate himself.

The other three were a nasty trio that Ember had brought into town with him. Winston had heard from Katie Que that Ember was going to leave them here, to act as a counterpoint and foil for Ripper. Turquitt was an impudite, slick and oily as was typical of their kind. He had lit a clove cigarette and seeing Winston look at him, nodded courteously, shrugging as if to say, sorry for the mess. It's only work, you know.

Turquitt's companion was a succubus named Kelbeh. She was busying herself, licking Winston's blood off of her lash. Her pale ivory skin and straight black hair framed a face that could stop a human heart with desire. Her scent was that of thick wine and looking into her eyes as she kept them focused on him made Winston want to fall into sleep, like on a hot summer day where the air was too thick to breath. Winston shrugged her off. He was not human and her wiles, though not to be trifled with, could only affect him if were unprepared. Turquitt's heavy, Marvin, was a balseraph. His vessel was a large man, whose arms were thick like his legs, giving him a too symmetrical appearance that made him seem more like a large ape than a man. Marvin held his lash ready, eager to begin again if Ember should let him. Seeing a field mouse in the dead grass underneath his feet, Marvin zoomed down and snatched it up. He plucked the feet from the poor creature and popping it into his mouth for a snack. A forked tongue licked out in Winston's direction, tasting him from afar.

Ember wanted something from Winston. He would not have taken the trouble to find him and having taken the trouble, he would not have stopped his minions from finishing what they had started with Winston. Winston did not ask. He had forced the Enemy to reveal themselves. There were many eyes that had seen them; not all were oblivious to the terrible truth of these beings.

Ember put on a pair of glasses to hide his eyes. "I am sorry for your wounds. You will have to pardon my dogs. They see someone run and think it an excuse to hunt. I merely wanted to talk to you."

Winston did not speak, so Ember continued. "I have no quarrel with you, throne. I have no quarrel with any of you outcasts. You are no longer part of the War so I see no need to take any steps against you. And in this particular case, I think we have common cause."

Winston produced his chain, flames licking its links. Ember showed no concern for the weapon. Effecting the back and forth pacing of a thoughtful man, Ember continued to state his case. His minions however moved closer, ready to pounce on Winston at the merest flick of his chain.

"Ripper here says you know everybody and everything that is going on. I want you to spread the word. Daria has broken her promise. She intends to refound a tether at the mission. Of course, this violates our agreement and we feel we must act."

Winston had heard about the incident with Sarah. He supposed something of the sort were going on.

"What we are doing, it doesn't concern you. Not you, throne; not the other outcasts. We are merely going to discredit Daria. No collateral damage. Like you, we want to see Valnum back. He was an archon we could trust, someone who understood that this special place you have here relies on its neutrality. Once we are done with her, Dominic will yank Daria's chain right back to Heaven and you will all be left to pursue whatever ends you see fit. With luck, it will be Valnum they send back. If not, at least it will not be one of Dominic's brood."

So that was it. Ember wanted to make sure that his move against Daria did not draw in the outcasts. That was why Turquitt and company were here. Why Ripper was rounding up the renegades, whipping them into line. With the outcasts standing by, Daria would be outgunned. But Winston wondered if Ember knew that Daria had already called in reinforcements. No doubt she realized that she could expect no support from those like Winston in the upcoming battle. In reality, Ember needn't have bothered with this little game.

Ember's glance shifted from Winston to the Western sky. Winston did not look around. He knew that two elohim were approaching, coming to his aid.

"Take what I've said and tell it to the others. Let them know we are leaving them out of this if they have the wisdom to stay out of it."

A midnight Toyota Landcruiser - demons loved black gas-guzzling S.U.V.s - drove up and the two cabalites, Ember and Ripper, got in. A black stretch-limo silently appeared out of nowhere as well. When its shiny doors opened, its opulent gothic interior was empty. Marvin got into the driver's seat. Turquitt and Kelbeh got in back. The demons were gone for dust when Elizabeth and Casey set down.

"I thought you left town," Winston remarked to Elizabeth. He had heard she was back but pretended he did not know. He nodded to Casey.

Elizabeth regarded the retreating demons, each car going in the opposite direction. She brushed her hair, as red as Winston's, her eyes dark and tearful for having missed a chance to fight. "Don't think that a bitch like Daria is going to chase me out of town. I come and go as I please. Dominic does not own me I'm happy to say."

Brave words, more so because she meant them. But Winston knew that Dominic's inquisition had destroyed, or worse, sent many outcast elohim to the chasm of Ma'on. It would be better for all of them if Daria could be made to leave sooner than later. If not and she were made archon, the happy paradise Valnum had left them would be gone.

"Well, you're still alive," Casey remarked, somewhat surprised. "What did they want?"

"Funny you should ask. . ."

**story by Solanio**


End file.
